


Same Blood

by labocat



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: M/M, Oral, Pre-Canon, Role Reversal, ToT: Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: Rhy can take Holland's troubles away, even if just for an hour.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



Holland is waiting for him when Rhy enters his chambers after tea, sitting back in what Rhy privately thinks of as _his_ chair now - it’s rare for anyone else he entertains in his chambers to need the chair, and Kell always paces or sits on his bed. He rises as Rhy closes the door behind him and sweeps into a bow. Rhy quickly crosses and goes down on one knee before him, shaking his head slightly.

Holland lifts his head and there’s only a trace of dryness in his voice as he says, “one must always kneel in the presence of his prince.”

“And what about in the presence of his king?” Rhy can catch the moment Holland picks up the familiar thread his words call forth - Holland’s shoulders straighten and he stands, not on his guard, but exuding confidence. Rhy has to take a deep breath and remind himself he’s not allowed to touch, not yet.

“Even more important, in that case.” 

At Holland’s words, Rhy gives a quick, cheeky grin, followed by a bow of his head that could be called demure if not for his expression, and sinks from one knee down to two, his hands reaching out to Holland’s hips for balance. That his hands are also in position to curve around and skim along Holland’s ass is just an added bonus. “Your Majesty,” he murmurs. Holland hadn’t visited for almost two months; Rhy knows Holland will read his desperate relief in the tight clutch of his fingers, but can’t quite bring himself to care. From Kell’s reports of White London and the Dane twins and his own pieced-together knowledge of the bond branded into Holland’s skin from comments and reactions, each silence, each absence is a cause for worry and each time he can reassure himself Holland is safe and whole, he’ll take it into his own hands.

As he undoes the buttons of Holland’s breeches - a coarser fabric than his own and colored that faded grey-black that seems to be the hallmark of White London - he can’t help but press his lips to each inch of skin he reveals: so pale, but starting to flush as he nudges fabric down the too-prominent ridges of Holland’s hipbones.

“Your Majesty should never want for food.” He knows Holland would turn down any offer of a meal and his visits are too sporadic to hope to plan for unless he wants to come up with an excuse as to why he needs a tray of food in his room at all times, but the evidence of the Danes’ treatment twists his heart still. Kell would call him soft, but Holland’s one and only mention of why he wouldn’t use his abilities as _Antari_ when they were together when Rhy asked was enough to make anyone’s heart bleed. 

Rhy brushes the thought from his mind and quickly pulls Holland’s breeches down enough to free his cock, licking a slow stripe up it and turning any defense Holland had for his situation into a soft moan. Each noise he can pull from Holland is a prize in Rhy’s opinion, his mind focused on the here and now, not whatever horrors Athos creates for him in his own body. 

Spreading his hands and letting them dig a little into Holland’s ass, Rhy leans in to take Holland further into his mouth. He’d done this before, even before this nameless agreement with Holland, but the point where he can almost _feel_ Holland lower his guard and shift to thinking only about Rhy is theirs alone; it gets to him like nothing else ever had. It thrills his blood each time he feels Holland’s muscles relax just that degree, so slight, but like a year’s worth of give to Rhy, who compares it to the tense knife-edge Holland usually holds himself on. Getting him to forget, even if only for a moment, what dangers their lives present is something that seems only for Rhy, and he clings to it now, sucking softly at first so he can focus on remembering the spots he knows are particularly sensitive.

Holland’s hand comes up to tangle in his hair as he finds one, letting his tongue press against the vein on the underside as he pulls back, and Rhy leans into it, grinning around the aborted jerk of hips Holland gives at a swirl of tongue at the glans.

“I am Your Majesty’s servant, at your disposal.” Holland had never taken advantage of his words any of the times he’d offered previously, but Rhy would continue for as long as it takes to get his message through. It doesn’t matter to him whose chains are wrapped around Holland’s body, who occupies the White Throne now. He knows who should be there.

The loud exhale when Rhy sinks back down, taking Holland all the way to the back of his throat is response enough and Rhy rubs encouraging circles into Holland’s hips with his thumbs, bobbing back and forth until a different sort of tension enters Holland’s muscles. He’s glad for all the nameless affairs and dalliances, opportunities to practice his technique so that he can offer Holland the very best, no less than a king deserves. Holland is powerful yet contained, and Rhy would have given most of what he had for the chance to see Holland at his best, instead of the hollow shell the Danes have wrought. But here at least, in this room, Rhy can take some of the tension from Holland’s muscles, create a place where no one else could intrude and breathe life back into him.

“Eager for it, aren’t you, princeling.” The words are rough, but Rhy can hear the hitch in them as he swallows around Holland’s cock, can feel Holland’s hand sifting gently, too gently, through his curls, coming down to caress his face and feel the shape of Rhy’s lips, stretched and shiny with saliva. And he is. Rhy is so, so eager for Holland to give in, eager for each moment of connection they can spare. It had been too long since their last meeting and even longer since they’d had more than a few minutes to catch their breath afterward. All their time together he holds close, and he never thought he’d long for even ten minutes to spend with a lover doing nothing but talking or relishing walls coming down. He only nods as best he can, turning each movement into another bob, a slow slide up and down that he repeats, sucking until he feels Holland’s hand in his hair tighten and keep him down at the base of his cock.

 _Finally_. Rhy relaxes and swallows Holland deeper, reveling in the groan that seems to be ripped from Holland’s throat. Still, Holland keeps his hips still, letting Rhy set the pace. Rhy doesn’t think Holland would or could ever hurt him, not just from letting go during something like this, and his heart gives a pang at the thought of how tightly Holland is controlled, even now. He lets one hand trail from where it’s been caressing Holland’s hip and ass down between his legs to cradle his sack, gently taking the weight and letting his fingers play across the skin behind them. He can feel more than taste the pulse of precome with how far down his throat he’s currently holding Holland and he takes it for the encouragement it is, working his throat in small swallows while his hand rolls Holland’s balls until he hears a low, wordless cry and Holland releases down his throat. 

There’s more than he can take, as usual, and even as he pulls back and swallows, some of Holland’s release spills down his chin. Holland brings his thumb down to wipe it away and as he licks it off, Rhy is suddenly, intensely aware of how hard he is himself. He knows Holland would return the favor if he asked, but this right now is for Holland. Rhy knows he can take care of it later - he has more than enough memories and fantasies to take care of himself and the thawing of Holland’s icy green eye is more than enough for now. 

“I hope it was up to Your Majesty’s usual standards,” he rasps, keenly aware of how raw his throat feels right now. He sits back on his heels and places his hands on his knees as he looks up at Holland, committing the slight upward turn of his mouth to memory, in that space that feels right next to his heart.

“Always.” Holland’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it, and Rhy has to struggle to keep eye contact, wants to beg Holland to stay just a little longer, wants to give him that much more time with just a small taste of the treatments he deserves. Holland is so strong; he _feels_ the way a king should to Rhy, power and control and magic, and while Rhy knows he’ll make a good king himself when it comes time, he doesn’t have anywhere near Holland’s right to the throne. His heart aches for the kind of king Holland could have been, the kind of relations Red and White London could have had. Should have had. _Sanct_ , how he wants to beg.

Instead, he turns his head to kiss Holland’s palm as his hand slides out of Rhy’s hair. The word is almost out of his mouth, a murmured, _”stay”_ when he hears the shuffle of his guards changing outside, armor and spears clanking as they go through the ritual of switching shifts. They’ve stayed too long and already he can see the shutter over Holland’s expression, the green of his eye icing over once again.

Instead, he stands and presses a soft kiss to Holland’s lips. Holland rarely kisses back, but Rhy is content with this, with even being allowed to. 

As Holland slips out the door, he turns back to Rhy and gives a bow, the exact degree one would give to a prince, an echo of the one he greeted Rhy with. Rhy bows in return, a courtier to his king.

Holland is gone by the time he lifts his head and Rhy can only hope his absence is not so long this time. 

It is his birthday soon, after all.


End file.
